Courage
by Faramir's Tumbleweed
Summary: The major battles in the Return of the King told through the eyes of young men. Book canon.
1. Bergil

**Summary: **The major battles in the Return of the King told through the eyes of young men. Book canon.

**A/N: **This is the first part of my story. The second chapter _The Battle of the Pelennor Fields _is under construction. Sorry I categorized this under "Denethor" and "Faramir"; there is no category for "Bergil" or "Beregond".

_**The Siege of Gondor**_

My name is Bergil, son of Beregond. I am writing this in Emyn Arnen in Ithilien in the realm of Gondor. It has been many years since the Siege of Gondor. Many men have lived through it; many will tell you a different story. This is mine.

I was one of the few lads who refused to leave the City (that is, Minas Tirith) with the women and children. My mother protested that I would be killed in the fighting. My father, however, said it was all right for me to stay. "We could run errands for the healers when the wounded are in the House," he had said. I did run errands, but that comes later.

On the tenth day of March, 3019 T.A., darkness began to flow out of the land of Mordor. By the eleventh day, there was neither Sun nor light: the darkness had covered it all. All the men said that war was imminent. Ever did they turn North and mutter, "Where are the Riders of Rohan?"

I awoke that dawnless day to find my father dressed in his livery. He bade me to stay in our family apartment. He said it was dangerous for me to leave the apartment, now that the Lord Faramir was not in the City to supervise the defense. "They give him no rest," my father said to me. "The Lord drives his son too hard, and now he must do the duty of two, for himself and for the one that will not return."

I am very sorry to say I disobeyed my father. I went into the streets and found my companions. Peregrin Took, the _perian_, was not among them for he had taken up his duty in the Tower.My companions and I played marbles and other childhood games until night fell. Only then did a messenger arrive. We crowded around him, waiting expectantly.

"A host had issued from Minas Morgul and is already drawing nigh to Osgiliath; and it has been joined by regiments from the South," he said, "Haradrim, cruel and tall. And we have learned that the Black Captain leads them once again, and the fear of him has passed before him over the River."

Many spirits quailed. My father did not return to the apartment that night. I knew he was standing upon the wall, watching for Rohan and hoping that Faramir could hold the fords for long. I told myself that if my father could be brave, I would be brave. After all, I was his son.

The next day, the darkness reached its full and grew no deeper. Ill news came to us again. The passage of Anduin was won by the Enemy. Faramir was retreating to the wall of the Pelennor, rallying his men to the Causeway Forts; but he was ten times outnumbered.

Mithrandir left to aid Faramir and his men. I watched him ride out of the City on his horse, Shadowfax who was one of the Mearas. His cloak was white in the dark day and watching him made me hope and believe. My father said to me, "Faramir can govern man and beast; he will make it yet."

Soon after Mithrandir returned the next day (he said Faramir was alive when he left him. Despite this piece of news, many doubted), a line of men were seen less than a mile from the City. They were marching, marching, a mushroom of a cloud rising behind them. My father said Faramir had to be one of them, great as a man that he was.

Suddenly, Nazgul appeared. They swooped down upon the line of men, screeching. Hell-hawks grabbing with their talons helpless men who could do nothing to stop them. I bit and wrung my hands in despair. Suppose Faramir did not return! Who then, would the people of Minas Tirith turn to?

The Lord Denethor released a sortie. Prince Imrahil and his swan-knights. Their blue banner at their head, they charged out of the City. "Amroth for Gondor!" they cried. "Amroth for Faramir!" They broke upon the enemy on either flank of the retreat; but one rider outran them all--Mithrandir on Shadowfax. A light started from his upraised hand.

The Nazgul screeched and swept away. They had not expected this. There was a stab of hope in my heart, yet fear still grabbed me. What if Faramir was one of the men who met his doom by hand of the Nazgul? The field was littered with orcs and men. Smoke rose from the field. The calvary rode on. The enemy was cehcked and held back for the moment.

A trumpet sounded and the calvary of Gondor halted. They turned and rode back to the City. I raced down from my spot to the streets in which they will arrive. I cried for joy. I felt no trouble in my heart, though I should have. I was young, immature, and foolish then. I did not know the true extent of war. Faramir lost a third of his men. Furthermore, where was he?

Finally, his men passed in. At the rear was the Prince; and in his arms before him on his horse was his kinsman Faramir, found upon the stricken field. I remember widening my eyes in horror and for a moment, no one spoke.

"Faramir!" we cried. "Faramir!" We wept for our brave captain. He did not reply and men bore him to the Citadel and to his father. Later, I learned a deadly dart had struck him while he was fighting a mounted champion Harad.

There still was no news of Rohan. My father often looked worried and I worried with him. If Rohan did not come, the doom of Gondor was imminent. Had Theoden forgotten the old alliances? Was he angry at us for not aiding him when their land was being attacked? Surely they understood that we had to look to _our _own borders!

The Gate was shut. My father (one of the watchmen on the walls) watched the orcs digging and digging lines of deep trenches in a huge ring, just out of bowshot from the walls; and as the trenches were made each was filled with fire.

"Fire!" I had exclaimed when I heard this news. "How did they fill the trenches with fire? What devilry or art did they posses?" No one had an answer for me. After all, who knows the secrets of the enemy but the Enemy himself?

The orcs flung heads of the ones who fell at Osgiliath or on the Rammas. They were all branded with the Lidless Eye, sign of the Enemy. Their faces were pictures of horror and fear. A few men of weaker spirit vomited at the sight of them. My father was horrified. Many of these men he knew and respected. He could only shake his fist at the pitiliess foes.

During that black day, Faramir lay upon his bed in the chamber of the White Tower. Dying, someone said, and soon "dying" all men were saying upon the walls and in the streets. I believed them and my spirit quailed. How could he be dead? Was there really no hope for Gondor now?

It was Mithrandir who took up the last defense of the City. The Lord was in his tower, next to his dying son. Tirelessly, Mithrandir rode from the Citadel to the Gate. Prince Imrahil went with me. He and his knights still held themselves like lords in whom the race of Numenor ran true. I watched them pass. A man who was standing next to me whispered: "Belike the old tales speak well; there is Elvish blood in the veins of that folk, for the people of Nimrodel dwelt in that land once long ago."

The first circle of the City was burning. Many men sat numb, not taking up arms to defend the City. I could only watch, helpless. I wished that I was a knight, riding upon a horse. Or an archer, stationed at the Gate, shooting arrows at the merciless foes. But no, I was a small boy of ten, waiting for my father to return and hoping Faramir was not _dying_, like everyone said.

Drums rolled and fire lept up. There came great beasts, like moving house in the red and fitful night, the _mumakil _of the Harad dragging through the lanes amid the fires huge towers and engines. It was against the Gate did the Black Captain put forth his strength.

And then came forth toe wolf's head. Later, men told me they named it Grond, in memory of the Hammer of the Underworld of old. Sometimes, I feel a twinge of jealousy at the men who witnessed all of this. Now, I am grateful I have not seen it.

I remember hearing the Gate fall. There was a loud splintering of wood and ringing of metal. I covered my ears in fear and squeezed my eyes shut. I was so sure that would be the end of Gondor as we knew it. But luckily, it was not.

All night I sat in the apartment, trying to calm myself. I chewed my nails, played with candle wax, bounced my collection of rubber balls against the wall. Still, I felt afraid. I admit I was and am afraid of dying by the hand of the enemy.

At dawn, a cock crowed, oblivious to all that had happened that night.

Horns, horns, horns. In dark Mindolluin's side they dimly echoed. Great horns of the North wildly blowing. Rohan had come at last.

What happened after Rohan came is another story for another time.


	2. Éothain Part 1

**A/N: **Thanks for all your reviews. Here is chapter two. The last chapter _The Black Gate Opens _is under construction. Please review! Oh, and MERRY CHRISTMAS (a bit late, though). I'm sorry but I'll have to split this chapter into two; I feel it would be just too much.

**Disclaimer: **As always, I don't own any of the characters (except Arulf the horse). All belong to J.R.R Tolkien (ring any bells?)

_The Battle of the Pelennor Fields_

The wind rushed into my face. Excitement flowed through me and my temples throbbed. I, Éothain of the Lord Éomer's company, was about to witness my first full-scale battle. Light was glimmering. Far away, in the South the clouds cold be dimly seen as remote grey shapes, rolling up, drifting: morning lay beyond us.

My horse, Arulf, whinnied. I knew he could sense the excitement in the air. I smiled and stroked his rich, black mane. He was a beautiful horse. I raised him from birth and my father had allowed me to ride him. Yes, we loved and understood each other.

There was a flash, as if lightning had sprung from the earth beneath the City. For a searing second it stood dazzling far off in black and white, its topmost tower like a glittering needle; and then as the darkness closed again there came rolling over the fields a great _boom_.

"'Tis the work of the enemy," someone next to me muttered. He shivered and said, "May merciful Iluvatar spare us all."

The king suddenly sprung erect. Tall and proud he seemed; and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than I had ever heard a mortal man achieve before:

_Arise, arise, Riders of Theoden!_

_Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!_

_spear shall be shaken, shield shall be splintered,_

_a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!_

_Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!_

The wind was in his hair and his eyes glittered. Many of us drew our swords and cried in a loud voice, "Hail Theoden King!" The king siezed a horn from Guthlaf his banner-bearer, who jumped, startled. And he blew such a blast upon it that it burst asunder. All the horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of us Rohirrim in that hour was like a storm upon the plain and a thunder in the mountains.

_Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!_

Suddenly, the king cried to his horse and the horse sprang away. Behind him the banner flapped and blew in the wind, white horse upon a green field, but he outpaced it. We gave a loud cry and we thundered after him, but he was ever before us. The Lord Éomer rode there, the white horsetail of his helm floating in his speed, and the front of us roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but to our surprise, Theoden could not be overtaken.

Morning came and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removed, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and our hooves of wrath rode over them, and the sound of our singing that was fair and terrible made their spirits quail.

It seemed that victory was imminent, though a black sea of enemy lay before us. I slew as many as I could. Most were trampled beneath Arulf's hooves. The banner-bearers of the enemy were slain and the standards shredded with swords and axes. I set my jaw as I drove my blade into the neck of a Southron. He gave a curious gurgling sound and fell dead. All that was left unslain of the enemy's calvary turned and fled far away.

But lo! suddenly in the midst of glory, the new morning was blotted from the sky. Dark fell about us. Horses reared and screamed, Arulf among them. I was cast from my saddle. With the wind knocked out of me, I knew that without my perch on Arulf, my chance of dying was higher.

Over the pandemonium, I heard Theoden King cry: "To me! To me! Up Eorlingas! Fear no darkness!" Inspired, I stood up and picked up my sword. There he was on his horse, his sword drawn. But his horse was wild with terror. He stood up on high and fought with an invisible foe. Then with a great scream, he crashed upon his side, a black dart in his side. To my horror, the king fell beneath him.

I fought an orc and finally hewed the orc's foul head off. Screaming, I charged toward the king but stopped. The great shadow had descended like a falling cloud. And behold! it was a winged creature: if a bird, then greater than all other birds, and it was naked, and neither quill nor feather did it bear, and its vast pinions were as webs of hide between horned fingers; and it stank. My heart was filled with terror. What sort of beast was this? neither bird nor monster? Down, down it came, and then, folding its fingered webs, it gave a croaking cry, and settled upon the body of the king's horse, digging in its claws, stooping its long naked neck.

While I was distracted by this beast, an orc had snuck up on me. Praise be to Iluvatar that I turned around hastily enough to only suffer a slash on my right arm. The orc grinned at me with yellow fangs. I thrust my sword at it but it brought the butt of its pike on my wrist. Shocked, I dropped my bade. It charged toward me and I placed my hands on each side of its disgusting head. I twisted it. There was a crunching sound and the orc fell, its head twisted to the left.

My blade! I picked it up again and turned to face King Theoden. His foe, rider of the hell-hawk, donned a black mantle, huge and threatening. A crown of steel he bore, but between rim and robe naught was there to see, save only a deadly gleam of eyes. A deadly and great black mace he wielded. My spirit quailed.

Theoden was not utterly forsaken. Several knights lay about him, slain, or else mastered by the madness of their steeds were borne far away. Yet one stood there still: a knight smaller in girth than most. He was weeping. The knight spoke in a sharp voice that sounded familiar:

"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!"

It was a voice as cold as steel and as hard as rock. Could it be...? Nay, my weary mind must have been playing tricks on me. She was in Edoras, safe and looking after the remnants of our people. No, the knight could not have been her.

The voice that answered the knight made my skin prickle with goosebumps. "Come not between the Nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye."

With one eye on the brave knight, I slew a Southron. The knight drew his sword and said, "Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may."

"Hinder me?" the Nazgul snarled. "Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!"

I fought off an orc and made ready to aid the knight. But then, the knight laughed and a clear voice said, "But no living man am I! You look upon a woman--"

_A woman!_

"--Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter."

I thought I would faint from exhaustion and shock. Éowyn continued:

"You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living and dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him."

I wondered if the Lord Éomer knew and if I should find him in this sea of battle and warn him that his soon-to-be only living kin was comitting suicide. And then I decided against it. Why suffer Éomer's wrath when it should be channeled toward his sister for not obeying their uncle?

The winged creature screamed at her, but the Nazgul made no answer, and was silent, as if in sudden doubt. Éowyn removed her helm and her hair--a river of gold--fell about her slim shoulders. Her eyes were grey and hard and fell, but tears were upon her fair cheeks. A sword was in her hand, and she raised her shield against the horror of her enemy's eyes.

I wanted to aid Éowyn, but I knew that this was her battle. All I could do was prevent orcs or Southrons from reaching her.

The great beast beat its hideous wings, and the wind of them was foul. I winced as I chopped an orc's arm off. This orc prove to be a fighter. Its skin was beige and it looked as if there were lumps on them. One eye was missing and its teeth was sharp and ugly. It growled. Our swords clashed, steel ringing against steel. My arms ached with weariness as I quickly drew my dagger and thrust it into its good eye. It roared in pain and I stuck my blade through it.

When I turned back to Éowyn, I found that she had hewed the fell beast's head off. Out of the wreck rose the Black Rider. It was taller than Éowyn and much more threatening. For a moment, I thought I saw Éowyn's face blench. With a great, chilling cry, he let fall his mace. Her shield splintered into a million poeces. She cried in pain and drew her shield-arm toward her. It was broken. She stumbled to her knees. He bent over her like a black cloud, and his eyes glittered; he raised his mace to kill.

"No!" I cried and charged; but the Black Rider stumbled forward with a cry of bitter pain, and his stroke went wide, driving into the ground. I stopped in wonder as I saw the halfling Meriadoc, or Merry. His sword had stabbed him from behind, shearing through the foul mantle, and passing up beneath the hauberk had pierced the sinew behind his mighty knee.

"Éowyn! Éowyn!" cried Merry.

The Lady gave a bitter, grim smile and with her last ounce of strength, she drove her sword between the crown and mantle, as the great shoulders bowed before her. The sword broke sparkling into many shards. The crown rolled away with a clang. Éowyn fell forward upon her fallen foe. But lo! the manglt and hauberk were empty. Shapeless they lay now on the ground, torn and tumbled; and a cry went up into the shuddering air, and faded to a shrill wailing, passing with the wind, a voice bodiless and thin that died, and was swallowed up by the din of battle.

Was the lady dead? I was too afraid to think. Dazed, I wandered back into the battle. To my surprise, Arulf rode up to me. I took his reins and swung up onto the saddle. A familiar voice called to me: "Éothain! Éothain!" It was the Lord Éomer.

He rode up to me and said, "Éothain, you must come with me. Quick! ere it is too late and our doom comes upon us."

"My lord--" I said in a tight and strangled voice, wondering how to tell him about his dear sister. He raised his hand as if to silence me.

"Say no more, Éothain. Now, we must look to battle."

New forces of the enemy were hastening up the road from the River; and from under the walls came the legions of Morgul; and from the southward fields came footmen of Harad with horsemen before them, and behind them rose the huge backs of the _mumakil_ with war-towers upon them. But northward the white crest of Éomer led the great front of the Rohirrim--me among them--which he had gathered and marshalled; and out of the City came all the strength of men that was in it, and a silver swan was borne in the van, driving the enemy from the Gate.

I was filled with red, red wrath and I slew as many of the enemy as I could. I followed Éomer closely, not wanting him to die too and the House of Eorl be lost. Éomer and us knights that were not slain and had mastered our horses rode up to where the carcase of the fell beast lay; and our horses would not go nearer. Éomer leaped off his saddle, and grief and dismay fell upon him as he came to the king's side and stood there in silence. I slid off my saddle and joined him.

I picked up the king's banner from the hand of poor Guthlaf who was slain, and I lifted it up. It fluttered in the wind and the sight of it filled my heart with hope and pride. Slowly, Theoden King opened his eyes. Seeing the banner, he hade a sign that it should be given to Éomer.

"Hail, King of the Mark!" Theoden said in a soft, weary voice. "Ride now to victory! Bid Éowyn farewell!" And so he died, and knew not that Éowyn lay near him. We wept, crying in our tongue: "Theoden King! Theoden King!"

But Éomer said in a brave voice that sounded like he were trying to fight back tears:

_Mourn not overmuch! Mighty was the fallen,_

_meet was his ending. When his mound is raised,_

_women then shall weep. War now calls us!_

And then he wept. "Let his knights remain here," he said at length, "and bear his body in honor from the field, lest battle ride over it! Yea, and all these other of the king's men that lie here." His eyes swept over the slain. I bit my lip as his eyes halted. I knew he had seen her. His face turned as white as virgin snow. His started to sputter. He stood in silence. Then, a fey mood took him.

Finally, he cried: "Éowyn, Éowyn. Éowyn, how come you here? What madness or devilry is this? Death, death, death! Death take us all!"

He said to me: "Instruct men to bear the king's body and Éowyn's body into the City with much honor. There, await my return."

Éomer spurred headlong back to the front of the great host, and blew a horn, and cried aloud for the onset. Over the field rang his clear voice calling: "Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending!"

And with that the host began to move. But we sang no more. _Death _we cried with one voice loud and terrible, and gathering speed like a tide the Riders's battle swept about us and passed, roaring away southwards. The few men with me and I watched them go.

"You four," I said, "raise the king. Lay cloaks upon speartruncheons and make a shift to bear him to the City." To another three: "Do the same with Éowyn--gently! for his deserves much honor. Her valor shall be sung in the Golden Hall to the breaking of this world."

We could not bring the men of the king's household from the field; for seven of the king's knights had fallen, and Deorwine their chief was among them. So we laid them apart from their foes and the fell beast and set spears about them.

I was one of the four who bore Éowyn. She looked fair and pale on the shift we had made for her. Her lips were slightly parted and she radiated grace and sorrow. My heart wept for the lady and for Éomer, who was still fighting despite the sorrow in his heart.

Rain came out from the Sea, and it seemed that all things wept for Theoden and Éowyn. The rain, healing and comforting, quenced the fires in the City with grey tears. Through the mist a van of men of Gondor approached us. A man who named himself Imrahil, Prince of Dol amroth, rode up and drew rein before us.

"What burden do you bear, Men of Rohan?" he cried.

Those bearing Theoden King answered with solemn voices: "Theoden King. He is dead. But Éomer King now rides in the battle: he with the white crest in the wind."

With much grace, the prince went from his horse, and knelt by the bier in honor of the king and his great onset. He wept. As he rose, he looked then on Éowyn and was amazed. "Surely, here is a woman?" he said, aghast. "Have even the women of the Rohirrim come to war in our need?"

I replied: "Nay! One only. The Lady Éowyn is she, sister of Éomer; and we knew naught of her riding until this hour, and greatly we rue it."

The prince gave a great sigh. He touched her fair hand as he bent to lookmore closely on her. His eyes widened. "Men of Rohan!" he cried. "Are there no leeches among you? She is hurt, to the death maybe, but I deem that she yet lives!" And he held a bright-burnished vambrace that was upon his arm before her cold, purple lips, and behold! a little mist was laid on it hardly to be seen. We gasped.

"Haste is now needed," he said gravely, and he sent one riding back swiftly to the City. He bowed low to the fallen and bade them farewell, and mounting rode away into battle.

The rider who had been sent by the prince returned with aid. They helped us bear the fallen. We bored them through the winding streets of Minas Tirith. Those who saw us pass bared their heads and bowed. Up the streets of stone we went till we came to a house.

"What place is this?" one of us asked.

"The House of Healing," the rider replied. "The leech-craft of Gondor is still wise and will be able to heal the Lady Éowyn of any hurt or illness. Enter in!"

We lay Éowyn upon soft pillows. As tired as I was, I found a great cloth of gold and covered the king's body with it. Torches we bored about him, and their flames, pale in the sunlight, were fluttered by the wind. I gave a great sigh. My duty was done.

I found myself a chair and collasped into it with exhaustion.

**A/N: **Part two will be up as soon as possible. I'm working on it! Please review!


	3. Éothain Part 2

**A/N: **Finally! Part two! As Éothain will say: Praise be to Iluvatar! Please review! If you ask me, PJ doesn't show the true extent of _athelas_. Okay, I had better say HAPPY NEW YEAR because I deem we all shall be too busy for the New Year to update stories. The final chapter is on the way.

**Disclaimer: **I know we all love these characters; but sadly, none of us own them.

_To lindahoyland, who wanted to see Bergil bring _athelas

_The Battle of the Pelennor Fields_

_(Part 2--the House of Healing)_

I was grateful for the few minutes of sleep I got. I rested my weary joints and my strained muscles. So much death! My sword was blackened with blood and my armor was sooty with smoke and dust. So much pain, so much death.

Someone shook me. "Sir, sir."

I opened my eyes and saw that a Gondorian soldier who looked no older than me standing before me. He bowed in their fashion--head bowed, hand upon breast--and said, "Sir, the Lord Éomer has arrived. He bid me tell you to meet him in the Hall of the Tower."

Reluctantly, I got out of the chair. I followed the man to the Hall of the Tower, where the Steward would be sitting. He was not there. Éomer King and the Prince Imrahil was there. They looked upon the bed of state where Theoden of Rohan lay before the dais. I saw twelve guards, knights both of Rohan and Gondor, stood about the bed. I stepped forward, and Éomer acknowleged my presence.

At length, Imrahil said: "Where is the Steward? And where also is Mithrandir?"

One of the guards answered: "The Steward of Gondor is in the Houses of Healing."

But Éomer said: "Where is the Lady Éowyn, my sister; for surely she should be lying beside the king, and in no less honor? Where have the bestowed her?"

Imrahil glanced at me and replied: "But the Lady Éowyn was yet living when they bore her hither. Did you not know?"

Hope sprang to Éomer's face and he turned and went swiftly from the hall, the Prince and I at his heels. It was evening when we came forth and many stars hung in the sky. And there came Gandalf on foot and with him one cloaked in grey; and we met before the doors of the Houses of Healing. And we greeted Gandalf. Éomer said: "We seek the Steward, and men say that he is in this House. Has any hurt befallen him? And the Lady Éowyn, where is she?"

Gandalf answered: "She lies within and is not dead, but is near death. But the Lord Faramir was wounded by an evil dart, as you have heard, and he is now the Steward; for Denethor has departed, and his house is in ashes." Grief and wonder filled my heart as Gandalf spoke the tale; I would very much like to meet this Lord Faramir.

But Imrahil said gravely: "So victory is shorn of gladness, and it is bitter bought, if both Gondor and Rohan are in one day bereft of their lords. Éomer rules the Rohirrim. Who shall rule the City meanwhile? Shall we not send now for the Lord Aragorn?"

I wanted to say the Lord Aragorn walked the Paths of the Dead and is most likely dead; but lo! the cloaked man spoke and said: "He is come." And we saw as he stepped into the light of the lantern by the door that it was Aragorn, wrapped in a grey cloak. "I have come because Gandalf begs me to do so," he said. "But for the present I am but the Captain of the Dunedain of Arnor; and the Lord of Dol Amroth shall rule the City until Faramir awakes." He sighed and added humbly, "But it is my counsel that Gandalf should rule us all in the days that follow and in our dealings with the Enemy." Prince Imrahil and Éomer of Rohan and Gandalf agreed on that.

Then Gandalf said: "Let us not stay at the door, for the time is urgent. Let us enter! For it is only in the coming of Aragorn that any hope remains for the sick that lie in the House. Thus spake Ioreth, wise-woman of Gondor: _The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known._"

And with that, Aragorn entered first while we followed. At the door were two guards in the livery of the Citadel: one tall, but the other scarce the height of a boy; and when he sawus he cried aloud in surprise and joy.

"Strider! How splendid! Do you know, I guessed it was you in the black ships. But they were all shouting _corsairs _and wouldn't lis--"

I did not hear what the halfling said for I entered the House to where the Lady Éowyn lay. I lay my hand upon her forehead and found it cold to touch. I sighed and went outside again. An old man, his hair salted grey, was speaking with the Lord Aragorn.

"--_athelas _in the noble tongue, or to those who know somewhat of the Valinorean..."

"I do so," said Aragorn, " and I care not whether you say now _asea aranion _or _kingsfoil_, so long as you have some."

I found my chair. A wounded man sat on it. His right hand was swathed in bloody bandages. I heaved a weary sigh. I found an urn of water and with the dipper scooped some up. I handed it to the wounded man. He accepted it and drank. After he had drunk his fill, I drunk and dropped the dipper back into the urn.

The oldman was saying: "Ioreth still repeat without understanding.

_When the black break blows_

_and death's shadow grows_

_and all lights pass,_

_come athelas! come athelas!_

_Life to the dying_

_In the king's hand lying!"_

The wounded man motioned for more water. I obliged and scooped him some. He drank four dipperfuls and said, "Thank ye, lord." His eyes were hollow and look shocked, as if he could not believe he had witnessed a battle that very day. I must admit that I have seen my first full-scale battle and I did not find it pleasing.

Aragorn now knelt beside a man that looked older than me but much younger than he. Aragorn placed a hand upon the sick man's brow. Just watching him made me feel that some great struggle was going on. For Aragorn's face grew grey with weariness; and ever and anon he called the name of Faramir (_So this was Faramir! _I thought to myself), but each time more faintly to our hearing, as if Aragorn himself was removed from them, and walked afar in some dark vale, calling for one that was lost.

A young boy of about ten ran into the House. His face was flushed and he seemed out of breath. He bore six long leaves in a cloth. "It is kingsfoil, Sir," he said; "but not fresh, I fear. It must have been culled two weeks ago at the least. I hope it will serve, sir?" Then he saw Faramir and burst into tears. I looked in wonder at Faramir, thinking, _Surely this is a man who is well loved by his people and is capable of great deeds!_

Aragorn smiled. "It will serve," he said. "The worst is over. Stay and be comforted!" He took two of the leaves and laid them on his hand and breathed on them. He crushed them and straightaway a living freshness filled the room, as if the air itself awoke and tingled, sparkling with joy. And he cast the leaves into the bowls of steaming water that an older woman brought to him. My heart lightened and I breathed a deep sigh. I felt refreshed. Aragorn stood up and his eyes smiled as he held a bowl before Faramir's dreaming face.

"Well now! Who would have believed it?" said the woman who brought Aragorn the bowls of water. "The weed is better than I thought. It reminds me of the roses of Imloth Melui when I was a lass, and no king could ask for better."

Faramir stirred, and he opened his eyes, and he looked on Aragorn who bent over him; and a light of knowlege and love was kindled in his eyes, and he spoke softly. "My lord, you called me. I come. What does the king command?"

"Walk no more in the shadows, but awake!" said Aragorn, smiling. "You are weary. Rest a while, and take food, and be ready when I return."

"I will, lord," said Faramir. "For who would lie idle when the king has returned?"

"Farewell then for a while!" said Aragorn, still smiling. "I must go to others who need me."

_Lady Éowyn! _my heart cried. I followed them to where the lady lay, pale as death. Éomer bit his lip and his face struggled against emotions. I placed a hand on his shoulder and to my surprise, he did not object. He sighed and I could see he was trying to relax.

"Here there is a grievous hurt and a heavy blow. The arm that was broken has been tended with due skill, and it will mend in time, if she has the strength to live. It is the shield-arm that is maimed," said Aragorn; "but the chief evil comes through the sword-arm. In that there now seems no life, although it is unbroken." Aragorn spoke more but I cared not to listen. I could hear rejoicing from where Faramir lay. Would there be rejoicing among the Rohirrim too? if the Lord Aragorn can heal our lady?

Éomer was silent, and he looked on his sister, as if pondering anew all the days of their past life together. I took my arm off his shoulder. My mind wandered to the days when I knew them as young children in Edoras. Éomer was a year older than me, Éowyn younger. Éomer seldom played with other children and Éowyn never talked to anyone, as she was shy. I often saw them in the streets but never cared to greet them.

Aragorn stooped and looked in her face, and it was indeed white as a lily, cold as frost, and hard as graven stone. But he bent and kissed her on the brow, and called her softly, saying:

"Éowyn Éomund's daughter, awake! For your enemy has passed away!"

She did not stir, but now she began to breathe deeply. Her breast rose and fell beneath the white linen of the sheet. Once more Aragorn bruised two leaves of _athelas _and cast them into steaming water; and he laved her brow with it, and her right arm lying cold and nerveless on the coverlet.

"Awake, Éowyn, Lady of Rohan!" said Aragorn sagain, and he took her right hand in his. "Awake! The shadow is gone and all darkness is washed clean!" He laid her hand in Éomer's and stepped away. "Call her!" he said and passed silently from the chamber. I did not follow.

"Éowyn, Éowyn!" cried Éomer amid his tears. But she opened her eyes and said: "Éomer! What joy is this? For they said that you were slain. Nay, but that was only the dark voices in my dream. How long have I been dreaming?"

"Not long, my sister," Éomer replied. "But think no more of it!"

Éowyn caught sight of me and Gandalf; and I bowed. She gave a slight nod and turned back to Éomer. "I am strangely weary," she said. _I am, too_, I thought. "I must rest a little. But tell me, what of the Lord of the Mark? Alas! Do not tell me that that was a dream; for I know it was not. He is dead as he foresaw."

"He is dead," I replied gravely.

Éomer nodded. "He is dead," he said, "but he bade me say farewell to Éowyn, dearer than daughter. He lies now in great honor in the Citadel of Gondor."

"That is grievous," she said. "And yet it is good beyond all that I dared hope in the dark days, when it seemed that the House of Eorl was sunk in honor less than any shepherd's cot. And what of the king's esquire, the Halfling? Éomer, you shall make him a knight of the Riddermark, for he is valiant!"

Gandalf said, "He lies nearby in this House, and I will go to him. Éomer shall stay here for a while. But do not speak yet of war or woe, until you are made whole again. Great gladness it is to see you awake again to health and hope, so valiant a lady!"

A frown darkened Éowyn's face. She sighed and said, "To health? It may be so. At least while there is an empty saddle of some fallen Rider that I can fill, and there are deeds to do. But to hope? I do not know."

I felt myself sigh and I went to a window. The window faced East, East to the land of Mordor. Above the craggy tips of the black mountains, a red fire reigned. Evil was stirring there. How long more will this war last? And when will we be defeated? I clenched my fist and turned away. Only time can tell.

To my surprise, I felt a shudder of tears. And a swift stroke of fear. For the first time in years, I began to cry.


	4. Damrod

**A/N: **The final chapter of my story _Courage. _This is told through the eyes of Damrod (no one ever said he was an old man). Please review! And if I got the lyrics of the song wrong, please forgive me. And another thing... this is a mix of book and movie because the book is kind of hard to do... sorry!

**Disclaimer: (**Damrod climbs up onto a podium) Ahem. (Unfurls a scroll and begins to read mechanically) FANofFARAMIRdoesnotownanyofthecharactersinthisstoryasmuchasshewouldliketo. ShedoesnotownDamrod--me--orPippinortheCross-roadsoftheFallenKingorFaramirthoughshedreamsofthemeverynight. IfanyoneaccusesherofstealingcharactersshewouldpersonallyhuntthemdownandteachthemthemeaningofPAIN.

_The Black Gate Opens_

We were assembled on the Pelennor. The ground was still slightly burntfrom the bloody battle the Rohirrim and the enemy had fought not a week past. The host of Orcs and Easterlings had turned back out of Anorien, but harried and scattered by the Rohirrim they had broken and fled with little fighting toward Cair Andros. According to my sources, scouts and reported that no enemies remained upon the roads east as far as the Cross-roads of the Fallen King. All was ready now.

I had left my lord Faramir in the House of Healing. He was not fit to ride out to battle; and he must stay in the City and make ready for the Lord Elfstone's coronation if we are the victor of this battle. _If... _How I hate that word! That tiny, two-lettered word brings so much doubt to one's mind.

I wished for a companion. My dear friend Mablung was still in Henneth Annun; Anborn, my cousin, was in Minas Tirith, seeing to the rebuilding of the City.

The Prince Imrahil led the us Gondorian soldiers; Éomer of Rohan led the Rohirrim; and all followed the Lord Elfstone, Legolas of the Fair-folk, Gimli the dwarf, the company of Dunedain, and the two sons of an elven lord named Elrond.

Pippin, the halfling, was next to me. My cousin Ingold was the man who had seen him first, riding with Mithrandir out of the North. Ingold had been slain during the siege of Gondor. I had wept when I found his body in the streets, crushed and maimed by the enemy. Pippin was valiant, despite his size. I have long since learned never to doubt his heart.

"Company, forward _march!_" the Prince Imrahil cried, raising his sword. He followed the line of Rohirrim and the Lord Elfstone's company. A cloud of dust rose behind us. When we were about three miles from the City, Pippin turned back and whispered, "Farewell, Merry!"

I knew Merry was another of the halflings. He came out of the North with the Rohirrim and had fought in the battle of the Pelennor Fields. The Lord Éomer had made him an esquire of Rohan. Right now, he was resting in the House of Healing, for he had been wounded while trying to aid the Lady Éowyn of Rohan.

The spring sun shone down on us, making our armor glint silver and gold. Banners fluttered in the breeze: the White Tree for Gondor, the golden horse for the Rohirrim, and the Lord Elfstone's standard which is said to have been wrought by an elf-maiden.

Once, Pippin stumbled from exhaustion. I reached out and stopped him from toppling over. He regained his balance and offered me a thank you. Pippin smiled at me. Although I was much taller than him, he was about three years older than me.

Ere noon, we came to Osgiliath. For a time, I had served in Osgiliath with the Lord Faramir's company. In Osgiliath, workers and craftsmen that were spared were busy. They were like healers, healing a body of gaping wounds made by foes. On the eastern side across the River, some were throwing up hasty works of defence. I knew that they would not last very long, if the enemy should attack.

This time, the "if" was rather positive yet negative. _If _the enemy attacked, that means we had failed to hold them back; yet _if _they did not attack, that means we were victorious. Just thinking about it made my shudder and smile at the same time.

After resting for a few minutes, we passed on through the ruins of Old Gondor and over the wide River, and on up the long straight road that in the high days had been made to run from the fair Tower of the Sun to the Tower of the Moon, which was Minas Morgul in its accursed valley. Faramir, who is wise in lore and history, told me much about the defences of the old Gondor. About five miles from Osgiliath, we halted and made camp.

Some of the Lord Elfstone's company rode on. I watched them go into the twilight as Pippin and I made a fire. I soon forgot about the calvary as we ate a meager supper. There was fear in some of our eyes. Pippin entertained us that evening, singing songs from his country--_Shire_, I think it is called--and stories about his family, the Tooks.

"Master _Perian_," one young soldier said, "I hear you sang a song for the Lord Denethor while he was still alive. Could we hear it, please?"

A misty look came to Pippin's eyes. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to sing. The song was soft and sad. Many of the men stopped eating to listen to Pippin's clear voice sing the song.

_Home is behind,_

_The world ahead,_

_And there are many paths to tread._

_Through shadow,_

_To the edge of night_

_Until the stars are all alight._

_Mist and shadow,_

_Cloud and shade._

_All shall fade..._

_All shall fade._

A few men began to weep. I clenched my fist and looked away. It was like the song was talking about us. And that we shall fade into the realm of death in the battle we are about to fight. Such fear grabbed my heart and I closed my eyes tight.

The next morning we went to the cross-roads. There was a carven figure there. The head had been hewn off and replaced with a hideous orc-head. A red eye was painted in the center of it. A few men began to mutter angrily at the sight of it. I spotted the original head. It was lying against a tree-root, not two feet away. A crown of white and gold flowers had grown around its brow. I smiled at the sight of it.

Then, the Lord Elfstone set trumpeters at each of the four roads that ran into a ring of trees. They blew a great fanfare. Some of us--me among them--had to cover our ears, for the noise was so shrill it was sure to drive away any foe from Mordor. My fellow heralds and I cried out: "The Lords of Gondor have returned and all this land that is theirs they take back!"

A few craftsmen took their tools and gently hewed the head off, so as not to ruin the torso of the figure. Then, the old king's head, still crowned with white and golden flowers, was raised and set in its rightful place once more. I could not help but notice the Lord Elfstone was smiling. I was assigned as one of the men to scrub and wash away all the foul scrawls orcs had put upon the stone. By the time we were done, there were only faint marks and unfathomable words.

We, our arms weary, rested for a while. Pippin sat next to me. He was still looking at the newly-cleaned carven figure. He cocked his head and said, "I have this tingle in me that Frodo and Sam passed this way once."

A few men laughed.

"Why is that?" I asked.

Pippin cocked his head further and squinted his eyes. "I just have that feeling."

We did not leave our camp for the rest of the day. Men said we were waiting for the main host to come up. I was afraid of waiting. When I sat under the tree where the old king's head had once lain, I imagined orcs swooping down upon us like vultures.

Finally, the main host arrived. I breathed a sigh of relief. _You find safety in numbers_, Faramir once told me. We marked two abreast. Once in a while, a man would stumble from weariness. I kept myself upright all the way. I could not stumble. I had to do this. For Captain Faramir, for Gondor, for Middle-earth.

We rested one more night. During the night, I dream I saw a large black wave. It came rushing down on me. I scrambled to draw my sword. A dark hand emerged from the wave and knocked the sword out of my hand with a painful crunch. Clutching my broken hand to me, I watched as a red eye appeared in the middle of the wave. Then... darkness...

We reached it. At last. The dark entrance to Morgul Vale. It was a dead land. It was like the foes of Mordor had heard of our coming and hid within the walls of the land. We soldiers stopped. The Lord Elfstone, the Prince Imrahil, Éomer King of Rohan, and Mithrandir rode to the gate with Pippin.

"Let the lord of the Black Land come forth!" the Lord Elfstone cried. "Let justice be done upon him!"

There was a dreadful silence. Someone began to pray silently; another man squirmed. Time stood still. Only the banners fluttered in the wild wind. I grasped the hilt of my sword. What _if _no one comes out to meet us? We would not be able to fight the war. Instead, we would be condemned to keep a close eye on Mordor. And if a king was incompetent...

History would repeat itself.

And then, with a dreadful creak, the Black Gate opened. A few men gave great cries. There, on a horse, rode a man. Nay, it was a man yet not a man. Perhaps this was one of the Black Numenoreans I had heard of. I tightened my grasp.

They were talking, though we could not hear what they were saying. The neogotiations were long. After a while, I began to tire. The Spring Sun glared down at me. Sweat trickled down my brow and burned my neck. Or was I simply nervous?

The man from Mordor rode back into the Black Land, as if afraid of something. The Lord Elfstone and his entourage rode away from the Gate. It was then I realized it was opening. Slowly opening, creaking and whining.

And then it greeted us. The largest host I had ever seen. Orcs, trolls, Southrons, and the Nazgul circled overhead. This was death for us. This was suicide. I drew in a sharp gasp and whispered, "May the Valar protect us." A few men began to shiver and shake. The Lord Elfstone rode up to us and shouted, "Hold your ground! Hold your ground!"

I held my ground.

"Sons of Gondor," the Lord Elfstone cried, "of Rohan, my brothers!" He looked at us one by one in the eye. I felt so inferior to this great lord of Men. "I see it in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me." He paused to let the words sink in. Then he continued: "A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the age of Men comes crashing down, bit it is not this day." He gave a grim smile. "This day we fight!" He drew his sword. Encouraged, we followed suit. The sound of ringing swords filled my ears. "By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you _stand, _Men of the West!"

His horse reared.

_By all that you hold dear on this good earth..._

I thought of the Captain Faramir, of Minas Tirith, and of the little boys that play soldiers in her winding streets. They should not die because one soldier's heart was afraid, because I was incompetent and not valiant like the kings of old. Yes, I would fight for them.

"I will fight," I whispered.

The host advanced toward us, their black feet stamping upon the ground. The ground shook. A Rohirric man began to chew the strap of his helmet to keep his wits about him.

_Thump..._

_Thump..._

Fire and drums! The enemy began to cheer. They were confident they would win the battle. And what about me? I was afraid. _If _I did not fight, I would die. No, I would not die. I would fight. I will help all of us win. May Eru Iluvatar--if he willing--protect us all.

Suddenly, someone in the front line gave a great cry. To my surprise, Pippin began to run, his small sword drawn. It shone in the light of the Sun. Soon, he was joined by many men. The calvary overtook him; the footsoldiers then overtook him.

"Fight!" I screamed at the top of my voice as I joined the charging host. I was panting. "We will win!" I cried.

A few unlucky men were run through with the pikes. But not me. With my sword, I hacked the point of a spear and ran my sword through the nearest enemy. It was an orc. He spat out black blood--into my face--and died. With one hand, I wiped the blood away. It burned my face and my hand. But I did not care. I was going to help win this battle.

Suddenly, an arrow pierced my arm. Sudden pain. A numbing chill passed through my body and made my head ring. I drew the arrow forth and threw it down. There was no time for pain. Ithrust my sword through another enemy--a troll's thigh.

The troll looked at me. He seemed indifferent that my blade was sticking out of his thigh. I pulled it out and backed away. He growled and grunted. The troll raised his hammer. The ground shook as it collided with the earth.

"Die!" I shouted and drove my sword into its thick hide. Black blood rushed forth like a river. The troll swayed and then collasped, sending up a cloud of black dust. Its blood continued to rush and seep into the earth. I gave a disgusted grunt.

I grunted again when an arrow hit my shoulder. I quickly pulled it out. It was blackened--poison. I bit my lip and dropped the arrow. Suddenly, my bravado halted. I felt afraid. Was I going to die of poison? I thought of the Lord Elfstone's speech again.

_This day we fight!_

So I lifted my sword. My limbs were on fire and my legs felt like they were made of lead. I could not do it. I dropped my sword with a clatter. Then, I fell.

"The eagles are coming!" someone cried. "The eagles are coming!"

And the words gradually faded into a distance.

-----

When I awoke, I thought I smelt flowers. I opened my eyes and saw a stone ceiling. It was greyish-white, like the walls of Minas Tirith. In the silence, I thought I heard soft voices coming from somewhere. A door opened. A voice said, "Welcome home, Damrod."

I sat up, though my shoulder ached. It was the Captain Faramir. He grinned at me. For some reason, he looked happier and more relaxed than he usually did.

"My captain," I said.

"Welcome home, Damrod," he repeated, "man of courage."

**The End**


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